Sherlock's Keeper
by The Skye Skye
Summary: After a rough night one the road, John and Sherlock share a heartfelt moment.


**Sherlock's Keeper**

Sherlock yawned lowly as he stumbled into 221 B Baker Street, John only a few weary steps behind. The door swung open and nearly hit the wall before Sherlock had the chance to grab at it quickly, stopping it's motion. He didn't want to wake Mrs. Hudson after all. Sherlock looked back at John's rumpled appearence, and then down at his own, heaving a sigh as he quietly shut and locked the door behind were both caked in mud and their clothes torn every which way, utterly destroyed beyond proper repair. Their breath was coming in gasps, rasping and heaving from all the exhertion of the evening. Another long and tiresome night of legwork for Sherlock's (now closed) case had worn both men down, physically, emotionally, and even mentally. After they stood for a bit in the entry, John gestured for Sherlock to start on up the steps, so he did and John followed. Sherlock scanned the calm and quiet of their all too cozy feeling flat, tripping over his own feet a few times. John stepped up behind him as they entered the living room, grabbing onto Sherlock's arm for some form up support. He was still panting, still on the verge of falling over. Sherlock let John cling until the army doctor recovered his strength enough to step passed him into the middle of the room. They both were in need of a shower and some serious sleep.

The flat was mostly dark, all the lights out, and the glow of sunrise, cool blue as it was still far off on the horizon, was the only light in the room. Everything was bathed in soft azure, shadows casting strange shapes on the walls and making Sherlock's unearthly face look all the more etheral in John's eyes. John observed his weary flatmate closely, categorizing each injury in his mind that he would later look at more closely, though his eyes were drawn to the scratches across Sherlock's cheek from where the man had met the pavement hours before. Even though he'd wiped the blood away earlier, they were like harsh red stripes against the pale skin still. The angry looking injury made John's stomach churn with a sort of gnawing need to protect Sherlock better next time. Sherlock could see it in John's eyes and gave a soft chuckle, shaking his head.

"I can take care of myself John…" Sherlock chided quietly, a slight tone of amusement in his voice. John sighed heavily and rolled his eyes at Sherlock, slinging off his coat and peeling off his jumper as well. After he'd pulled the material of his jumper over his head, his eyes caught sight of Sherlock stripping off layers now as well. His shoulders slumped back as he let his own long coat fall away from his lithe form, followed by his jacket, his eyes not once leaving John. John met the intense gaze without hesitation or shyness. He liked looking into those brilliant eyes and watch them pick him apart. It was fantastic to be able to see the genius in Sherlock through them.

"Shower with me John…?" Sherlock asked, his deep baritone was whisper quiet and inviting, John was startled out of his silent reveries by the sudden suggestion. The familiar domestic warmth of their every day life crept up into John's ribcage, causing his cheeks to flush. John gave Sherlock a gentle smile that the taller man returned readily, knowing all along that John would agree but not letting that spoil how pleased he was that John did. He liked showering with John. The doctor took careful attention to detail, and… if he was honest with himself, he enjoyed washing John's hair… It was such a simple and silly, mundane task. But Sherlock loved it none the less.

"Alright… Sure. Fine." John agreed quietly, nodding a bit as Sherlock took his hand, pulling him closer, closing what personal space they'd had up for a brief kiss to John's split lips. Sherlock's warm and wet tongue slides out to slip into his lover, his friend, his flatmate. The taste of dried blood on John's mouth that Sherlock found there wasn't unwelcome, in fact he found he liked how human John tasted. It was so earthly and grounding, unlike how Sherlock usually felt, so far above everyone and everything else on a plane all his own. The kiss broke and gave way to a sudden but gentle hug. Sherlock's arms slid down around John's torso and pulled him close, flush against his body. It was reciprocated quickly, and John's fingers clung to the back of Sherlock's shirt tight, his eyes squeezing shut. He did not want to let go now, the thought of how close he'd come to loosing Sherlock pushing it's way to the forefront of his mind.

"I though I might have lost you tonight… you daft sod… Running off like you do… Could have been killed… You're such an idiot." John scolded lightly, his body trembling a little as Sherlock's nose buried against his neck and he felt the hot puffs of Sherlock's exhaling breath against him, reminding him that his flatmate was still very much alive. Thank God.

"I know John." was Sherlock's simple reply. John knew he'd never gain an apology from Sherlock, not for simply doing what he did best. No, but those three words were close enough and John let his body relax and his brief bit of worry and anger go. A moment longer, they lingered in the warm embrace before Sherlock was pulling away, shedding pieces of dirty clothing on his way into the bathroom. John watched him walk, disappearing into the shadows of the hallway before his feet began moving again, each step causing him pain, but it was pain easily ignored. He had to go up and make sure Sherlock was cleaned up properly.

Someone had to look after him after all…


End file.
